Illness
by suessepup
Summary: England's immune system has always been weak it seems, ever since Black Death struck hard. So what happens when the common flue hits. Well, let's be glad that France always seems to visit.
1. Chapter 1

Francis didn't bother knocking; he used his spare key to enter the Brit's house. The house was quiet, all except for the constant coughing in another room. e fHe frowned as he scanned the nearly silent house. He stepped over to the vase on the coffee table. Arthur had managed to find irises, even this late in the year. Most flowers were dying off for the year, yet Arthur always managed to have beautiful flowers in the middle of the winter. These were wilting. Their water supply was low. Their caretaker hadn't tended to them in a while and they missed his presence.

"He's sick again?" The French man turned his attention to the room where the only noise in the house came from – constant coughing and sneezing. He frowned as he entered Arthur's room. e He He found the British man curled up under two large blankets on his bed. Arthur struggled to sleep with his eyes half closed, but the constant need to sneeze or cough kept him from resting properly. He would sit up quickly in a coughing fit and lay back down, only to do this several times.

"Awww, cher, you should have called, and told me you were sick. I would have been here sooner," he said sympathetically.

His cheeks were already red from the fever and he took little physical notice to the French man's words. His eyes shifted to look at France though and weakly reached for his hand, but his condition never showed any difference. "Can't," he mumbled. "I knew… you'd show up… eventually." Just a sentence caused him trouble. He had to breathe between every other word.

"I obviously can't leave mon petit lapin alone for along," he said calmly and sat on the edge of the bed. He glanced down at the bed before sliding his hand under the blanket to take Arthur's hand. On normal days, Arthur enjoyed a grip that made Francis squirm in pain and plead for him to loosen his grip, but this wasn't a normal day.

"I'm not…going to die… Right?"

"Of course not, cher," he answered.

Arthur rolled over to cough harshly into his free hand. His whole body shook at the act of propelling the virus out of his system. It took all his strength to merely cough. After the moment of the coughing fit, he rolled back over to face Francis. "That's good."

"Were you sleeping naked in the rain or something?" Francis joked.

"N-no… Just gardening in this… this weather," he muttered.

"Well, don't do that again," he said sternly.

"You can't say that! They'll die otherwise," he blurted out before lurching forward in a coughing fit once again. Francis frowned and watched him.

When Arthur stopped coughing, Francis began calmly, "I can take care of your plants for you, amour."

"You would get sick then, and I would have to take care of you, and that would make me sick," he muttered.

"And I don't want you to," Francis said. He tried not to sound like he was commanding in front of his lover.

Arthur didn't answer at first and lay down slowly. His breathing was getting heavy again, causing him to pant and struggle. "I… Do you recall… anything about the… garden?" he struggled. He looked up at the ceiling as he recalled the reason why and how he got sick. The weather in London was rarely full sun but despite the clouds, they had not gotten rain in days. Just cold, gray weather.

The garden if fine cher," he reassured.

Arthur knew this. That was why he was sick, wasn't he? "A-aye… Can you… check my temperature for me?"

Francis stood up and went into the drawer. He grabbed the thermometer and stick it gently into the Brit's mouth. He waited for it to beep and pulled it out. "104 cher… that's no good," he said, a slight hint of worry in his voice.

"It's g-gone up," he panted.

"Anything I can get you?"

"I… I don't think so… Food and water… Won't stay down."

"Rest is what you need then."

"I… I've been trying," he said weakly, trying to stop panting.

"Would you like me to sing?" he offered. "It has helped before."

"Yes please or get some… some more medicine."

"Is there any here?"

"I think so… I took some yesterday."

Francis left to go into the bathroom for medicine. Arthur, meanwhile, laid his head back as he stared at the ceiling, panting. He closed his eyes slowly as he waited. Francis quickly returned with medicine in a little cup. "Here you go." But Arthur didn't respond. His heard bobbed as he tried to remain conscious. He barely registered France's presence and his breathing had become quiet now.


	2. Chapter 2

Francis left to go into the bathroom for medicine. Arthur, meanwhile, laid his head back as he stared at the ceiling, panting. He closed his eyes slowly as he waited. Francis quickly returned with medicine in a little cup. "Here you go." But Arthur didn't respond. His head bobbed as he tried to remain conscious. He barely registered France's presence and his breathing had become quiet now.

"Arthur," Francis repeated. This time around, Arthur mumbled words that seemed to fade in and out of modern English to possibly Italian. He didn't register the reality of the situation. His mind floated elsewhere as he continued to his speech.

"Oh, how many memorable pedigrees, ample estates and renowned fortunes were left without a worthy heir? How many valiant men, lovely ladies..." he began.

"Arthur! Stop it!" Francis demanded in a panic. He had to keep himself from shaking frantically to British man on the bed.

"…And handsome youths whom even Galen, Hippocrates and Aesculapius would have judged to be in perfect health, dined with their family, companions and friends in the morning…"

"Stop playing around," he said in a shaky voice.

"…and then in the evening with their ancestors in the other world?"

"ARTHUR!" he shouted, shaking him now.

His eyes snapped open and he looked at Francis in a state of confusion, completely unaware of what had occurred. Then he curled up, coughing harshly into his arm. His body still shook from every cough he did. Finally, he turned back to Francis and with a weak voice, inquired, "What happened?"

"You were muttering something from the plague," he said warily, brushing the bangs away from the sick man's face. He could feel from that mere activity how hot he was. He frowned and took the medicine and handed it to him.

"Oh… I'm sorry. I use to… memorize literature from then… to keep my mind off of the death outside of my window. It's involuntary now," he explained and cough into his shoulder before weakly taking the medicine. Francis noted the pain in the other man's face as he swallowed the pills. He took a large gulp of water to force the medicine.

"You won't get sick… Will you?" Arthur struggled to say through his sore throat and lack of breath.

"Non, I'll be fine," Francis answered.

"Then… do you mind?"

Francis smiled and moved closer to the other. Arthur allowed his head to lie on Francis' side. He curled up in a ball next to the French man. It was quiet for the moment, minus the heavy breathing of the British man. Francis petted the other's head gently, watching him slowly fall asleep again. He looked so vulnerable, so weak. Arthur was still pale. His body shook with every motion, most of the time it was shivering though. Francis had to tuck a blanket around the two of them to stop it. Even then, Arthur looked ill. It hurt Francis to just sit there and watch the nation he had shared so much history with, be it good or bad, struggle to merely breathe.

"Fr-Francis," Arthur said in a whisper.

"What is it? You need to rest," he said and brushed some hair away from Arthur's face to see his dulled, green eyes. He frowned as he pulled the other a bit closer. He knew there was no way to protect him now, but he felt like he should at least try.

"Will you sing me a song… or at least hum?" he asked like a child. He weakly nuzzled into Francis' side. He shifted so that he lay on his stomach. He was most comfortable like this, even if this made the situation worse. It was hard to breathe, so he shifted so he was partly resting on his side. It was a habit from his childhood, and now it was so ingrained in him that he rarely slept any other way.

Francis watched him get comfortable. He didn't plan on leaving Arthur for awhile, so he got into a comfortable position as well. He rubbed Arthur's back tenderly. "Let me know if there is anything else, cher," he said. He took a breath, and began to sing. The calm, majestic voice relaxed the sick British man next to him, as he soon began to breathe more naturally and close his eyes. By the time Francis had finished the song, Arthur was asleep again. The Frenchman continued to rub his back for several long minutes before getting up. He glanced around the room and found another blanket. He tucked it around Arthur. "Get well," he said softly and kissed him on the head. Silently, he left the room and went to make some soup for Arthur when he woke up.

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><p><em>Thanks for your comments guys. Yeah, this was based off a role play that my friend and I did. The first half and the beginning on this section we both role played. The reason it took so long was because I had to finish it for everyone who complained for an ending. If anyone is interested, I also have a squeal I have to dig up but please leave your comments and review. Let me know how you liked it. Thanks everyone who did so before!<em>


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